holyoutlaw: (me meh)


Tristan Donovan
Chicago Review Press, 2015.

An engaging read about the wild animals that live in cities with us — from raccoons in Berlin to leopards in Mumbai, rattlesnakes in Phoenix and African land snails in Miami, to foxes in London and subterranean crabs in Rome.

These animals have come to be in cities in many ways. Raccoons are not native to Berlin, but were escapees after the brief fad for raccoon coats in the early days of automobiles. Foxes in London had the city built up around them – it’s not that they were pushed out of the city and moved back, but they stuck around when new food sources presented themselves. African land snails were imported by accident.

Living in the city affects the animals in many ways, — good, bad, and neutral. Bird song has to change to adapt to city noise, such as getting louder, changing pitch, or both; birds colliding with skyscrapers is a problem for Chicago, which is on the Great Mississippi flyway. In many cases, such as coyotes and foxes, the animals live longer, healthier, and with much smaller ranges than in the wild. The smaller ranges happen because food is more abundant; this results in greater density, which can be a problem if there’s an infectious disease outbreak such as mange. Another change that happens across many species is animals becoming nocturnal in the city, as that helps them avoid humans.

Donovan talks to people doing on the ground research and control of animal species, and examines the issues using references that range from scholarly articles and to general interest books, news articles, and blog posts. In the final chapter (which provides a good, inspiring end to the book), he looks at how we can use cities as conservation agents and not only improve them as homes for the animals that live with us, but bring more animals into the city.

Mirrored from Nature Intrudes. Please comment over there.

holyoutlaw: (picture icon iv)


Emma Marris

I’ve read this book twice.

The first time, I thought it was going to affect my approach to restoration as deeply as Crow Planet had (which was my first encounter with a critique of the false dichotomy of the urban/nature divide). I even said to myself (rather embarrassing to admit) “How shall we tend the rambunctious garden of this crow planet?” Everything felt like a revelation, this was a manifesto that was going to crumble the walls of the prison and free all within.

The second time, I did get a deeper understanding of the ideas of the book, and why the author presented them.

One important challenge is the idea of the “baseline.” How far back do we reach? The problem of “the baseline” is a difficult one. In North America, it appears easy: first European contact. But “first contact” might be after smallpox had wiped out most of the population; Europeans making first contact were already finding degraded cultures with most of their practices reduced or even lost. First contact might have included some botanic experts, but as often as not, it was fur trappers. If the first attempts at scientifically describing the landscape occurred after fur trapping wiped out the beavers, the hydrology has already been severely disrupted. Between smallpox and beaver extirpation, we have two layers of disruption before our supposed baseline.

Let’s not forget the racist implications of thinking that pre-European contact the Americas existed in a state of nature. Increasing evidence indicates that, in fact, in North America lands were settled soon after glacier retreat and were managed right from the start. One of the habitats that people are putting a lot of effort into restoring, Garry Oak savannah, is completely anthropogenic. The idea that the Americas, before Europeans, were “pristine” and unmanaged excludes the roles that Native Americans and First Nations peoples played in managing the environment.

The baseline for park restoration efforts is 1850. This is after smallpox and beaver extirpation, true; but it’s between botanizing and settlement. It’s a useful fiction because it gives us a target, but it’s not an absolute truth.

Once we realize that the “baseline” is a useful fiction, then we need to think about novel or hybrid ecosystems – that is, ecosystems based on combinations of native and introduced species, or completely new assemblages. What if a tree is a weed in one ecosystem but endangered in its native range? What about plants that have no native range as such? Is there value to the increasing expense of fighting back the increasing list of invasive species?

These are only some of the questions that Marris raises in “Rambunctious Garden.” Each chapter looks at a different aspect of restoration – restoring to a baseline; natives vs. introduced; pristine vs. modified – looking at what people are doing, what the challenges are, how problems might be approached differently.

For my own part, all I can say is “the journey continues.” I’m more interested in getting ivy, blackberry, and other monocultural weeds out than I am in meeting a “baseline” community or replicating an historical example.

Mirrored from Nature Intrudes. Please comment over there.

holyoutlaw: (picture icon iv)


by Oliver Burkeman

This book is off-topic for this blog, but (a) I wanted to write and think about it and (b) this is where the link to Powell’s lives, so here you are.

As soon as I heard about The Antidote, I figured it would be of interest to me. And I was right. I also thought it would make a nice intellectual pairing with “Bright-Sided: How Positive Thinking Is Undermining America“, and I was right in that regard as well: Burkeman quotes Ehrenreich extensively in his first chapter.

You could say that Bright-Sided outlines the problem: That positive thinking is corrosive, that it places too much value fixating on one emotional state to the expense on all the others, and that it makes circumstance a personal responsibility. Ehrenreich first began her research into the insidiousness of the positive thinking movement when she was diagnosed with breast cancer, and looks at how it affects everything from major illnesses to dieting to business practices.

In that sense, The Antidote outlines some tactics that an individual can take to find, if not the shallow happiness of positive thinking and affirmativism (“Because I’m bright enough, and smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me!”), at least a deeper peace.

The first chapter outlines some of the problems of false positivism. One of the main problems is that by reciting affirmations, or by striking the word impossible from your vocabulary (as self-help gurus advise), you’re setting yourself up with a “don’t think about the white elephant” type of problem: by stating one thing, you’re also creating the opposite in your head.

Subsequent chapters look at different ways of finding happiness or peace, examining ideas from as far back as the Stoic philosophers and Buddhism, or as contemporary as Eckhard Tolle and the Museum of Failed Products.

The chapters that resonated most with me were “Who’s There? How to Get Over Yourself” and “The Safety Catch: The Hidden Benefits of Insecurity.”

In “Who’s There?” Burkeman looks at what Buddhists call the monkey mind, the “I”; one of the questions he asks is who is it you can’t stand when you say you can’t stand yourself? What is the source of those thoughts constantly running through your mind?

I have a very strong internal narrator; sometimes it’s right at the surface, and I’m talking to myself so deep into imagined conversations I am making gestures. Sometimes it helps me work out a problem, but most often it just takes me away from the moment I’m in. These thoughts are never here now; now is beyond articulation, you can only think about the past or the future.

“The Safety Catch” resonated with me because I’ve only recently appreciated the value of the struggle to learn, the difficulty of not knowing while you attempt to figure something out. I’ve avoided that wherever I’ve encountered it, whether schooling or in art forms such as physical theater or writing science fiction.

And I see now that I’ve used the internal voice as a wall against insecurity, not knowing. The voice wasn’t helping me “plan out the story” as much as it helped me avoid writing. And the voice wasn’t preparing me for various scenarios as much as it walled me off from them when I was in the moment.

The Antidote is a book that can bear thinking about and reconsidering. Burkeman himself has an epilogue chapter looking at how his life has been affected by what he learned while writing this book.

If there are brambles in the path, it is enough to step out of their way.

Mirrored from Nature Intrudes. Please comment over there.

Profile

holyoutlaw: (Default)
holyoutlaw

June 2017

S M T W T F S
    123
4 5678910
11121314151617
18192021222324
252627282930 

Syndicate

RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
OSZAR »